


Home is a Bitter Word (Unless It's On Your Tongue)

by Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)



Series: Finding Myself (And Maybe You) [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cassian Drinks To Deal With His Feelings, During Jyn's First Encounter With the Alliance, F/M, Gen, Jyn Experiences Alliance Amenities After Doing Hard Time, Jyn-centric, Masturbation, Sharing a Bed, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Madjesty/pseuds/Copper_Nails
Summary: "The barracks on Yavin Four aren’t meant to double as guest quarters."Or: Jyn's first night with the Alliance is a...cozy one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this movie...twelve hours ago, and I went in swearing that I wouldn't write fic for it. Then Cassian murmured "Welcome home" like he was allowed to do such things, and I threw myself off a metaphorical cliff.
> 
> ...it's 3am, cut me some slack. Hope you enjoy!

The barracks on Yavin Four aren’t meant to double as guest quarters. Even if they were, the Rebellion is flush with pilots, officers, and the soldiering type. Jyn and Mon Mothma walk up and down the halls several times over the course of an hour, trying to find an empty room, but both women come up empty handed.

“I am sorry about this,” Mon Mothma says, somewhere in the middle of their third (or is it their fourth?) pass through the halls.

Jyn dodges out of the path of two young men in flight uniforms so orange that it burns the back of her eyelids. “This is a well-manned base,” she says, her voice clipped yet still tired. “I hardly doubt that you’re sorry about the quantity of your men.”

The backhanded compliment bounces off the barrack walls, leaving Mon Mothma’s responding chuckle soft, in comparison. “No, I can’t say I am,” she admits. “Though I do understand the nicety of having a place to call your own after a long day.”

Jyn hums and does not reply.

Their fifth pass through the hall has Mon Mothma slumping in the shoulders, just barely, though Jyn remains as straightbacked as ever. Her posture only sharpens as a familiar voice echoes in the distance. She and Mon Mothma round a corner to find one Cassian Andor strolling down the halls, his head bent low as he talks to another man.

His robotic companion, Jyn notices, is missing, but his new friend wears the same steel-stained skin as an Imperial droid. The woman following just behind them has large, curved horns spiraling out of her head; her species eludes Jyn’s experience, but Mon Mothma seems unperturbed.

“Greetings, Captain,” Mon Mothma says, her mere presence bringing the trio to a halt.

“Senator,” Cassian responds. He salutes, as do his companions, but trained politeness cannot disguise his sharp glance between the politician and Jyn. Jyn grits her teeth under the weight of his scrutiny. The air in the hall tastes of unasked questions.

Whatever silent conversation the senator and the captain are having, Jyn is not privy to it. The horned woman in Cassian’s party catches her eye and shoots her a look that would be sympathetic, were the air not so thick with tension. Jyn’s attention is drawn away from her, however, when she sees Cassian slump.

Mon Mothma’s responding smile is small, but victorious.

“At ease,” she says. A hand ghosts over Jyn’s shoulder as Mon Mothma steps away, passing through the crowd of officers. “Jyn, I believe that Captain Andor will be able to assist you more effectively than I will, at this point. Don’t hesitate to comm me, however, should you need assistance.”

“With me, Erso,” Cassian says. The snap in his voice is a dangerous one; Mon Mothma freezes, and Jyn goes stiff.

She gives the captain a scathing once over and crosses her arms over her chest. “And why would I do that?”

“Because Captain Andor can provide you with a bunk for the night,” Mon Mothma says. She speaks with a politician’s diplomacy, though even Jyn can detect the steel beneath her words. “Isn’t that correct, Captain?”

“As you say, Senator,” Cassian says. He looks at neither of the women when he speaks, settling his gaze somewhere behind their heads, instead.

Jyn almost feels a stab of pity for him. Almost. With a reluctant glance back at Mon Mothma, she steps into his entourage.

“I will see the both of you in the morning before your departure,” Mon Mothma says. She tucks her hands behind her back with a sereneness Jyn momentarily envies. “Have a good night, Jyn. Captain.”

“Have a good night, Senator,” Jyn replies. She moves closer to the horned woman as Mon Mothma sails away, her white robes billowing as she makes her way down the hall.

When Jyn looks back, Cassian and his steel-grey companion are already walking away. She does not hurry herself as she walks, but instead lingers just behind the horned woman in the party.

Cassian leads them down several side halls, leaving a trail of disgruntled mutters behind him as he goes. His steel-grey companion breaks off from him, after a while, with a cheerful nudge and some words in a language Jyn thinks is Huttese. Before she has a moment to parse their meaning, the man is gone. The horned woman looks to her, then back to Cassian, and is quick to follow his lead.

Cassian does not stop moving. He doesn’t look back. Jyn, in turn, doesn’t hurry to catch up.

She sees him stop, at last, near the end of one of the barrack’s many halls. He taps a code into the padd just outside one of the many sliding doors, then steps back as the door opens. He does not enter. Instead, he turns to look at her, gracing her with a look that is both distant and scathing.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” he says, less in words and more in a grunt.

Jyn narrows her eyes as she comes to stand at his side. She peeks over the threshold into the darkened room and takes in the surroundings. It’s sparse, but this is no surprise. A pair of boots are tucked beneath the low-rise bunk, and a withered plant lingers on the ledge of the room’s small, rounded window.

“Go inside, Erso,” Cassian says, his voice heavy with annoyance.

“Is this your bunk?” Jyn asks. She still doesn’t look at him, but some small, bitter part of her relishes in hearing him sigh.

“It is,” he says. “However, I won’t be sleeping here tonight. You will.”

Jyn looks at him, finally, and studies the impartial planes of his face. There’s a tick around his mouth that turns his lips downward, but otherwise, his only tell is his voice. Jyn decides that this slip up is intentional as she turns away.

She takes a tentative step over the threshold.

“The ‘fresher is over to the right,” Cassian says. He does not follow her into the room, but rather stations himself just outside the doorway. “Use the towels, if you want, but make sure to fold them up when you’re done. I’ll let one of the droids know that they need picked up in the morning.”

“Seems classy,” Jyn says, though more to herself. To her surprise, she hears Cassian let out a huff of a laugh.   

“Welcome home,” he says, low and bitter. Before Jyn can turn and reply, she hears the door begin to shut; by the time she turns, Cassian is already out of view.

Jyn grits her teeth and stares at the bleached white door, as though her will alone will open it again. When it remains shut, she sighs.

The window that lets light into the room is too small for anyone to see through, and her clothes are sticking to her in a way that’s far from pleasant. Jyn strips out of her clothes, pacing as she goes to get a better estimate of the room’s dimensions. She shucks her shirt over her head and glances upward, tracing the path that the airduct takes through the room. There isn’t a grate immediately visible, but every room has to have one; the ‘fresher is her best bet.

She glances at the window one more time, taking in the thick glass and the dead plant that blocks the bulk of her view. It’s not a wide thing, but large enough for someone to slip through, if they really put some effort into it.

When Jyn looks away from the dying light of the day, the white walls of the room seem to shiver. She takes a deep breath and does her best to center herself. She gathers her clothes in a corner of the room and waits until the world has stopped shaking. When it has, she turns on her heels and marches straight into the ‘fresher.

What she assumes is the sonic shower is tucked away behind a diaphanous, glass door. Jyn finds the towels Cassian mentioned and chooses one for herself, running a hand over the semi-course material as she considers the contraption.

The Imperial prison on Jedha had claimed that showers of any sort provided their prisoners with too much opportunity to plot, or that cleanliness was somehow supposed to be equated with freedom – whichever the reason, inmates had rarely been allowed anywhere near a sonic, let alone a shower with real water. The closest provided was a community ‘fresher, full of naked aliens with varying genitalia and motives for being present. Jyn had avoided the room when she could and had developed a less sensitive nose for it.

This also means, however, that she remains generally unfamiliar with the workings of the average sonic shower.

Jyn opens the glass door in the ‘fresher and squints at the pipes within. There is a handle smack dab in the center of the wall with two buttons on either side of it. It seems straightforward enough – one button is red, and the other is blue. She steps into the shower and closes the door behind her. After another long moment of steadying breaths, she reaches out and touches the red button.

Nothing happens.

Jyn frowns. She touches the button again, and then for a third time. The sonic bubbles at her, but nothing emerges from the showerhead.

Jyn lets out a frustrated huff. She moves on to the handle next, keeping a hand close to the uncooperative red button. She closes her eyes and mutters a quick prayer under her breath, then yanks the handle upward.

The shower isn’t sonic.

Jyn shrieks as a spray of warm water rains down on her head. She flattens herself against one of the far walls and breathes, dancing away as the water wets her feet and circles down a drain built into the tile floor.

The last time she took a hot water shower, she was a child. Jyn stares up at the showerhead now and feels something sting in her chest, next to the gradually slowing thunder of her heart.

She takes a tentative step forward. The water hits her around her calves, then around her knees; it is warm, but it doesn’t burn. Jyn continues forward until the water hits her collarbone. Her body is a mass of bruises and scar tissue; lack of access to bacta and years upon years of developing a tolerance for pain has led her to what she knows must be an abnormal sense of her own body.

Jyn feels her ever-tense muscles begin to relax and is startled, for a moment, as the tension begins to leave her.

She stands beneath the spray of water for longer than she should without moving.

By the time she emerges, Cassian’s room has grown dark. Jyn dries herself off but leaves the towel hanging in the ‘fresher. Residual water drips down her back as she steps into the bunk, raising goosebumps all over her skin.

Still a little damp, she begins to peruse the room.

Cassian, by all accounts, is a man who lives sparsely. Jyn pokes at his shoes and finds them well-worn but clean; the set of drawers in the corner of the room is full of shirts that seem threadbare. There is no secondary jacket to the rugged costume he wears.

Beyond clothes and the plant (Jyn pokes at this, too, and winces as one of the leaves crumbles to dust), the room is empty. There are no mags hidden beneath the mattress; there are no books tucked beneath the clothes. Jyn finds herself standing in the center of the room, arms crossed and frowning at the complete lack of information Cassian Andor’s room provides.

She steals one of his shirts. It is petty revenge for his complete lack of personality, but it allows her to don clothes as the room gradually grows colder. Jyn returns to the corner and retrieves her small clothes, as well, before turning her attention to Cassian’s thinly lined bed.

The corners of the sheets are regulation sharp. Jyn studies them for a long moment. She smiles as she untucks the sheet. The smile only grows wider as she rips it from the bed.

She makes a nest for herself, pressing her back up against the dresser. Cassian’s bed comes equipped with two sheets and one pillow; the mattress is just as hard, if not harder, than the ones in the Imperial prison. Jyn’s nest is far more welcoming, and she settles into it as content as a whisper bird.

She closes her eyes, slows her breathing, and does her best to sleep.

One click passes. Then another. When she can no longer keep her eyes closed, Jyn traces a thousand patterns onto the ceiling of Cassian’s bunk.

The door to the bunk remains resolutely shut.

Jyn flops onto her back and doesn’t quite wince as she hits the floor, but it’s a near thing. She frowns up at the ceiling and shifts, trying to will her thoughts silent, or at least into white noise.

Almost inadvertently, her hands begin to drift.

She retraces patterns over the crest of her thighs, each pass slower than the one before it. The warmth of the blankets seems to pool in her belly, and for one blissful moment, Jyn’s thoughts sputter.

The Imperial prisons were never a particularly safe place to engage in this sort of relaxation. Then again, a Rebel base in not necessarily a prison. Their bunks are bigger than any prison cell Jyn has been in, in any case.

The patterns continue. Jyn’s hands drift upward, over her hipbones and onto her stomach, where planes left by lack of food tingle at the touch. Her breasts are not much to speak of, but it still feels good when she cups them, still makes the warmth in her belly flare when she pinches a pink nipple.

Jyn sighs and lets her eyes drift shut.

There have been lovers over the years – well, no, not lovers; quick fucks whenever she has a moment and the urge. There are dark rooms in every corner of the galaxy that are willing to accommodate the eager, and time has taught Jyn how she likes to use those spaces best. Sometimes it’s with her own hand. Sometimes it’s not.  

She tweaks her nipple again and sighs. The hand not otherwise occupied slips between her legs, though not beneath her small clothes. She grinds against the pressure and rolls her nipple between her fingers before letting the memories wash over her.

_The smell of velvet is strong, but not so overpowering that she can’t smell the sweat of the Hapan woman grinding against her thigh. There’s a perfume mixing in the air, but she can’t identify it; she doesn’t want to, too preoccupied with burying her hands in the Hapan’s hair. She knows the woman can’t see her – Hapans, beautiful as they are, have terrible night vision, and the room they’ve procured is steeped in shadow. All the same, the woman’s fumbling hands find her breasts, her thighs, her clit, and Jyn moans as the fire in her belly grows warmer and warmer._

Jyn moans, now, and bites her bottom lip. The air in the bunk is stale in her lungs, but she doesn’t care; she sucks it in and slips her hand beneath her small clothes. The wetness of her smells sharp; it seems to permeate the room, desperate and wanting.

Jyn rocks upward. The sheets tangle around her as she warms, and she does her best to kick them off, but the task proves difficult. Eventually, she gives up. Sweat droplets fall from her forehead, pool in the small of her back, but she climbs higher and higher, chasing galaxies in the depths of her memory.

She doesn’t know when the Hapan’s face shifts, but the hair grows short and a beard takes the place of the once-smooth face. Jyn hisses but continues to buck against her lover’s clever hand. She hears her name, low and gravely, and gasps. Her legs wrap around a waist that is well muscled, strong, and she grinds down on an unfamiliar cock as her lover’s hand continues to toy with her clit.

If she says a name when she comes, Jyn doesn’t know whose it is. The white ceiling seems to glow as pleasure rushes through her body; her back arches off of the cool ground, trapped only by sheets and the gravity of the planet.

She comes down slowly, wiping her hand on the sheets that now stick to her skin. The bunk grows fuzzy as she settles against Cassian’s pillow. As sleep comes to claim her, Jyn finds herself smiling, a small bubble of warmth resting in the center of her chest. It feels like amusement, though more prideful and deep, but she has no time nor desire to analyze it.

Jyn sleeps.

*

It’s still dark when the door to the bunk slides open. It makes no more noise than a hiss, and yet Jyn still lurches out of sleep. She snarls and blinks into the draining light of the hall, trying to make sense of the shadow making its way into the room.

“Relax, Erso!” a familiar voice snaps. “It’s just me.”

Jyn blinks. She squints into the darkness and catches sight of a familiar jacket just before the door to the bunk closes. The air in the room has grown cold, but it carries the scent of alcohol over to her.

She watches, a small scowl still on her lips, as Cassian Andor collapses down onto his mattress with a groan.

“I thought you said you weren’t sleeping here,” she says, her voice lowered to an exaggerated whisper. She’s suddenly aware of the come beneath her fingernails. As subtly as she can, she brushes her hand against Cassian’s blankets again.

Cassian grumbles something at her that sounds like a Huttese swear. He rolls over onto his back and blinks at the ceiling, his hands groping at something that isn’t there. When he rises, he looks straight at Jyn.

He takes in her nest with a detatched curiosity. “What are you doing on the floor?”

The muscles in Jyn’s back stiffen at once. “It’s comfortable,” she says. Her voice is too prim for someone who's just been jolted awake, but the effort it takes to speak clearly is worth the confusion that appears on Cassian’s face.

“That’s idiotic,” he says, his words thick and slow on the tongue. “Rebellion mattresses aren’t that bad.”

“I’ve had more comfortable lodgings with the Empire,” Jyn replies.

A sharp prick of satisfaction settles in her chest as Cassian scowls. She watches as he readjusts himself on the bed, arms folded across his chest. He toes off his shoes and lets them fall to the floor, then makes quick work of his belt. He’s not wearing a blaster, Jyn realizes – at least, not visibly. She gives him as careful of a once over as she can manage without rousing suspicion.

“You’re unarmed,” she says, after a beat.

Cassian glances at her in the same moment he throws his belt to the floor. “This is my room,” he says. “And just because you can’t see the blaster doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

Jyn looks the man over once again. She looks towards the door, then makes a point of looking under the bed. When she rises, it’s to find Cassian glaring at her.

Jyn doesn’t bother to hide her smirk. “How much did you drink, captain?”

Cassian lets out a huff. It sounds more amused than his previous offerings; the curve of Jyn’s smug smile falters, if only for an instant.  

“More than I should have,” Cassian admits. “But enough that I felt like I could come back here.” He rolls onto his side, presenting Jyn with a clear picture of his back. “Go back to sleep, Erso,” he orders.

Jyn does not such thing. She continues to watch him, taking note of every shuffle and muttered discomfort. After several minutes or so, she settles back into her nest, but her eyes remain wide open.

Cassian doesn’t fall asleep, either. He does his best to keep his back to her, but eventually, he flops over again and stares at the ceiling.

Jyn continues watching. Only when her eyes have drifted half shut and her attention has begun to drift does she make sense of the captain’s gentle muttering. It’s too rhythmic to be nonsense; it’s music, an old song that she hasn’t the knowledge to identify.

After several more minutes, the singing stops. Jyn opens her eyes at the same time Cassian sighs. He rolls over to face her, his mouth drawn into a disgruntled frown.

“Erso,” he calls in exaggerated whisper. “Erso. Wake up.”

Jyn hesitates, then rises. She considers faking sleepiness for a second, maybe two, but Cassian’s keen gaze thwarts even the thought. “What do you want?”

“My blankets, preferably,” he says. “Give me one.”

Without a thought, Jyn pulls the blankets closer. She sees Cassian’s eyes narrow and is reminded, abruptly, of the Mandalorians she once shared a cell with. “No.”

The two parties stare at one another. Jyn grasps the blankets tighter as Cassian leans forward, one of his hands reaching out towards her nest.

He pauses. After a long moment, the tension around his mouth loosens, and Jyn feels like she can breathe again. She watches him as he leans back into the bed and rests his head against the stiff mattress. His dark hair splays out like some sort of reverse halo.

“Okay,” he says, staring upward. “Then come to bed.”

Jyn’s mouth drops open. She closes it, opens it, then closes it again.

Cassian glances sidelong at her and smirks.

“I’m sorry,” Jyn says, sputtering. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Cassian says. “Come to bed.” He pats the mattress again, carefully shifting his gaze back towards the ceiling.

Jyn’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click and a stab of pain. She watches Cassian through narrowed eyes, the blankets still bunched up between her hands.

When he looks at her a third time, the smirk seems to have faded. “Think of it this way, Jyn,” Cassian says. “With you sleeping here, I get some of the blankets, and you get to keep a better eye on me. Doesn’t that seem fair to you?”

Jyn’s lips grow thin. She considers the stretch of the man before her. After a long, long moment, she finds her grip on the blankets beginning to relax.

Cassian seems as surprised as she does when she rises from her nest. He frowns and sits up in his bed as she gathers up the sheets. They land on top of him with an unceremonious thud, and yet he remains stock still.

Jyn brings his pillow over with her and gives him a withering look. “Can I help you?”

It registers with her that she’s wearing one of his shirts; Cassian’s shocked blinking and sudden silence merely informs her that this is…unexpected. Jyn raises her eyebrows and motions for the man to move before flopping down in the bed beside him. He shuffles out of the way just in time to miss the bulk of her body weight.

“Come on,” she mutters, doing her best to rearrange the blankets. “I want to sleep as much as you do.”

He’s warm, she notices, even though she’s careful to leave space between the two of them. He radiates heat like an overwarm hyperdrive; it’s a wonder he needs blankets at all.

“Right,” he says. Some of the slowness has returned to his voice. All the same, he reaches out and helps spread the blankets over both of them. Jyn knocks his hand away when he goes to retrieve the pillow. She sets it up, herself, and tucks her arm underneath it, better to cushion her against the mattress’s unbending nonsense.

She sees Cassian’s nose wrinkle as he lies down next to her, but she’s too tired to be offended. “Go to sleep, captain,” she says, borrowing his authoritative tone. “We have a lot of work to do in the morning.”

“Right,” Cassian mutters, shuffling under the sheets. “Right, right.”

He closes his eyes, a few moments later. Jyn’s remain open.

A wave of exhaustion washes over her as she watches his breathing level out. The bunk falls quiet save for the occasional squeak of the mattress.

If she tries hard enough, Jyn can still detect the smell of sex behind the alcohol and man-stink of Cassian. She flushes, there in the dark, out of some sort of misplaced embarrassment, then hunkers down in the bed herself.

She dreams of her lover in the night, of his stubble against her cheek and of his breath against her mouth. When she wakes, however, the dream has disappeared into stardust.

**Author's Note:**

> This may eventually get a Cassian POV sequel. Maybe. Let me know what you thought!


End file.
